


The Lovers' Tale

by accioslash



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Married Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioslash/pseuds/accioslash
Summary: True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked. ~Erich Segal





	

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowlements to Chaucer and CliffsNotes for the title and endless thanks to my fabulous betas. Any mistakes you find are of my own doing after it left their capable hands.

Harry putters around the hotel room, putting away the contents of their suitcases as quietly as he can.

The ceremony had been short at their request.

There had been no hordes of family or friends or other well-wishers, and certainly no members of the press. No long, rambling speeches about the beauty of marriage or blessings for a fruitful union; there had only been the vows they'd written, the words the Ministry official had told them needed to be said, and before Harry had time to really process it, the man had told them, "I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your husband." And as simple as that, it was done. Easy-peasy.

Harry can't help but smile at the display laid out before him - Snape splayed across the hotel bed, fully dressed, wrinkling his new dress robes all to hell. He almost looks posed, completely relaxed and Harry would suspect he was feigning sleep but the snores are real enough.

Snape is usually awake at all hours of the night, and Harry often wakes to find himself being watched. It is rare for him to be given the same opportunity. He finds that it fills him with an overwhelming sense of Snape's inherent vulnerability and in turn that fills him with equal measures of affection and concern.

"Knackered, aren't you?" he murmurs softly not wanting to risk disturbing his sleeping partner, soundlessly sliding the dragon hide boots from Snape's feet. Snape doesn't stir, and Harry moves to ease him out of the constricting robes leaving him in trousers and shirtsleeves. The snoring continues.

Slipping out of his own robes, he gently folds himself around Snape's body, tucking a blanket around them both; his face is pressed close to Snape's on the pillow, mouth within kissing distance.

"Best honeymoon ever," he pronounces, placing a hand on Snape's chest. After a moment, their fingers are intertwined, although Snape's only opinion on the matter is a nearly inaudible, "Mmmhmm."

* * * * *

  
Harry senses that Snape is awake before he can open his eyes, but it doesn't matter because Snape's mouth is already on his and his cheek is rubbing against Harry's skin, rough and coarse, and Harry can't be arsed to worry that it's going to leave a red and itchy burn.

His hands drift under Snape's shirt and vest, grasping at the heat trapped between the layers of expensive fabric. "I wondered if you were planning to sleep through the entire honeymoon," Harry says between quick kisses, then adds - a note of challenge in his voice - "It wouldn't be surprising for a man of your...advanced years."

Clearly impervious to Harry's feeble attempt at winding him up, Snape's mouth presses against his neck, hot breath and wet kisses against his skin sending shivers down his spine. His fingers clench around Snape's shirt, tugging blindly until finally his hands find skin. "Perhaps," Snape ventures, tone silky and rich with insolence that rivals Harry's own at his best, "it's the company. All those years of depraved debauchery and you've nothing left for me to stay awake for."

Harry's lips turn up into a smile against Snape's mouth. "Oh, really? Let's see what I can do about that."

Although his tone is light and teasing, his hand is reverent as it slides under the waistband of Snape's trousers and pants, over Snape's skin, and across the softer part of Snape's navel. After all, this will be their first time making love as a married couple. And although a part of him scoffs at the idea this should be different from any of the other times, it is still special. Harry threads his fingers lower, follows the scattering of hair there and stops only when he finds Snape's cock. He takes the weight of it in his hand, feels its shape on his palm, the beating, hot thickness of it as it responds to his touch.

It's Harry who searches out Snape's mouth this time, pants against it for a moment, then opens it with his tongue, and then he's inside exploring and demanding. Snape is all warmth and tongue and spit and lips and even a little bit of teeth, skidding his fingertips across the inside of Harry's thighs, and Harry soon becomes overwhelmed by Snape's touch and is growing hard merely from the scent of him.

Suddenly Snape's hands are everywhere, expertly stripping his clothes off without ever relinquishing Harry's mouth. And he is good at this, good enough that Harry had been a little intimidated (not to mention surprised and a touch jealous) at first. Now that he is used to it he rather enjoys the attention, because Snape always lets his hands linger in all the right places.

Snape's hands slide down Harry's back to pull him even closer, fingers seeking out the spots on his spine that always make him shudder. He knows exactly where to touch Harry to make him moan low in his throat, knows that closing his mouth over the hollow in Harry's pelvic bone makes him babble incoherently. He'd learned early on exactly what makes Harry the most vocal - the skin just behind his knee, a well-placed bite on the inside of his elbow.

He runs his fingers across Harry's stomach just lightly enough to make his entire body shiver; it's not enough to really tickle, but there is a hint of menace there that makes Harry's body shrink back and reach for more at the same time. The touch is always followed by soft, wet kisses leading from his belly button to the tip of his cock, and Harry doesn't even try to stop himself from thrusting up into Snape's mouth. He groans at the sensation of wet heat engulfing him, burying one hand in Snape's hair and the other in the sheets. Low groans turn to whimpers of frustration as Snape teases him, his mouth moving just fast enough to keep Harry's attention without letting him get too close before Snape is ready.

His tongue traces the length of Harry's cock before he pulls his mouth away, a fist closing around the base to keep him from coming too soon. Harry opens his mouth to complain, but all he manages is a moan as Snape's tongue flattens against the taut skin just behind his balls. He spreads his legs further apart, bending his knees to open himself as much as possible. Lazy kisses make their way back up his side just as one fingertip presses inside him, making his back arch. Snape's thumb presses into his perineum with increasingly rapid strokes, sending sparks straight up through his cock. He gasps and presses down instinctively when Snape's tongue pushes inside him, gently coaxing his muscles to relax and let him in.

Snape's other hand simultaneously begins slowly moving again, stroking Harry in time with the fervent thrusts of his tongue. The combination of sensations is overwhelming, and before long Harry is rocking helplessly back and forth between Snape's mouth and his fingers, trying to get just a little bit more with each thrust. He isn't aware that he is babbling a litany of nonsense words until Snape lets go of him completely, crawling up Harry's body to press soft kisses along his jaw. Harry can hear his soothing whispers, but he is too far gone to focus on what Snape is saying. Instead he clamps a hand down on the back of Snape's neck and drags him down for a hard kiss, his lips and tongue demanding all the things he can't get his voice to say.

When they break apart to breathe, Snape's eyes are even darker than usual, filled with a possessive gleam that always sends a shiver of anticipation up Harry's spine.

Snape always knows just when to stop, when it's about to become too much, too soon. Knows just when to leave Harry hard and breathless and desperate while he carefully removes his own clothes. Harry leans heavily against the headboard for support and forces his eyes open to watch the show.

Snape methodically undressing himself is a sight Harry will never tire of. Part of him wants to reach out and help, and sometimes he does, speeding the process along until they are skin on skin. This time - this first time they make love as a married couple - he forces himself not to touch, fingers curled against his palms hard enough to leave little half moon marks on his skin. He watches as Snape slowly reaches up and tugs his tie loose before pulling it off, then slides his shirt off and hangs it alongside his formal robes on the hook behind the door.

There is a flash of black silk and suddenly Snape is naked before him, and Harry's cock twitches almost painfully at the image. His whole body flushes when Snape's gaze strays down to his erection, then back up to Harry's face as he moves forward to plant his hands on the wall on either side of Harry's shoulders. Harry opens his mouth to say something, anything to get Snape to hurry up; he still has no idea what Snape has in mind, but it doesn't matter. All Harry wants is for him to do _something_ , but before he can embarrass himself by begging, Snape's mouth is again pressed against his.

He turns over and pushes himself up on his knees before Snape even asks, closing his eyes as he feels strong hands grip his hips to hold him still. Snape covers his body with his own, holds on with all four limbs, his thighs plastered to Harry's, his arms blanketed over Harry's back. It feels like an eternity before Snape finally slides inside him, burying himself in one long, slow thrust.

After all that build-up, Harry expects (hopes) to be pounded firmly into the mattress, but Snape seems content to just rest there, his mouth trailing small kisses against the sides of Harry's throat, his face nosing through the sweat damp curls at Harry's nape, his cock pulsing gently where it's buried inside Harry. He can feel him trembling, can feel beads of sweat gathering on Snape's forehead, matting his hair to the sharp angles of his face, but he makes no further movement.

“Severus,” he moans out on an exhale, almost startled by the fractured quality of his own voice. “Please.”

The begging is worth it; he feels that cock press into him, somehow, inconceivably, even more deeply than before. He feels Snape smile in triumph against his neck.

Smug bastard. _His_ smug bastard. 'Til death do them part. And beyond if Harry has any say in the matter. Harry twists, grabs the side of Snape's face and kisses him once, hard. “Fuck me.”

Snape pulls almost completely out of him and then pushes back in hard enough to make Harry see stars. Harry presses his forehead into the mattress and relaxes his lower body, yielding himself to those wonderfully irregular thrusts. He meets each of them, shifting his hips just enough so that Snape's cock brushes against his prostate with each stroke. Snape fucks him steadily, confidently, his mouth scraping along Harry's jaw. Harry feels stifled little grunts resonating in Snape's chest, hears the bed squeaking under their combined weight. The pleasure sears into him each time Snape presses in, making him need more, forcing him to reach up and grab onto the headboard for leverage, enabling him to push back into every thrust.

“Ohgod,” Harry blurts, when he feels Snape pushing in deeper, harder, “Ohgod.” Snape fucks him hungrily – short, shallow thrusts that are making it nearly impossible for Harry to draw a breath. Snape fists one hand in the sheets, wraps the other alongside Harry's on the headboard, takes a deep breath and begins pounding Harry relentlessly against it, momentarily making him see stars.

Harry can't see much more than the little bursts of color behind his eyelids, can't hear anything but the bed springs whining in protest, the headboard rhythmically banging against the wall, and his own desperate panting. He is panting so hard that he is sure he is going to hyperventilate, but he can't make himself care. He can’t think about anything except the aching pleasure at the base of his balls. And when Snape reaches around him to grip his cock, Harry knows he won't last longer than a few rough strokes. He is vaguely aware of the sound of his own voice gasping Snape's name as he comes, his muscles contracting around the other man pulling him even more deeply inside.

He has no idea how long Snape fucks him after that – only that he never changes his punishing, grinding tempo, never stops murmuring Harry’s name, even after they are both spent and trembling and gasping for breath.

Snape's hands slide along Harry's legs as he presses their lips together, kissing Harry sloppily for several slow seconds. “Perhaps you _do_ still have something that is worth staying awake to see,” Snape whispers cheekily, pressing inside him one last time, causing Harry to tremble with the aftershocks. Harry smiles. He is only dimly aware of the details, Snape pulling his head back for more uncoordinated kisses, Snape slipping out of him with wetness and a jolt of pleasurable pain, Snape crawling down his body and licking him clean, savoring his own taste against Harry’s skin. He collapses into his pillow, already drifting back to sleep.

* * * * * *

  
When Harry becomes aware again, Snape’s mostly on top of him, still asleep, and they are both stickier than Harry wants to think about while coherent enough to form complete sentences.

For a few moments Harry lays still, feeling the comforting warmth of Snape's body. Sometimes he thinks this is the best part of sleeping with Snape (well, alright, not really, but he does enjoy this part a great deal), because he is the only one who gets to see the other man so completely relaxed and open.

"Severus, we fell asleep before you cast the cleaning spell. We need a shower." Snape shifts, but not away. He settles himself more squarely over Harry's chest, clearly planning to ignore him.

Severus is slim but not insubstantial, and Harry has already expended a fair amount of energy last evening. Though it’s probably morning by now. He wasn’t exactly casting _Tempus_ while letting Severus melt his brain into incoherent goop. He pokes him again. “Severus, we need a shower,” he insists.

"Later," Snape says, sounding suspiciously far more awake than he did only moments earlier. He smirks and before Harry can ask exactly what Snape is waiting for, he kisses him. And he keeps on kissing him, right past breathless and into that space where Harry decides that he doesn't need to shower or even needs to breathe after all as long as Snape keeps on kissing him forever.

* * * * *

  
Relaxed, freshly showered, and well-shagged, Harry watches Severus in his periphery, scribbling notes in spiky script in the margins of _The Canterbury Tales_ , assiduous even when reading for pleasure.

Bare toes, boxer shorts, reading glasses, and blatant blanket thievery, this is his husband in bed. A frisson of excitement runs through him at the thought of the words 'his husband'.

He doesn't say a word, setting aside his own book, rolling over to watch. Severus looks up, flushing. "What is it?" he asks, guardedly.

"Nothing," Harry says, holding out his hand for the book. "Give it here and I'll read the naughty bits out loud to you. Perhaps we can find something new to keep you awake again tonight."

"Crude, as I always suspected." But he hands over the book readily enough. "Still relying on my notes to improve your performance, Mr Potter?"

"With any luck we won't come across too many enticing suggestions marked 'for enemies'."

"You do have extraordinary luck," Snape acknowledges with a raised eyebrow.

Harry looks at Snape fondly, stretched out on their bed, covers pushed back and the lines of his back highlighted by the light coming in through the window. For a moment Harry can't remember how to breathe. When his brain kicks back in he swallows hard and says, "Yeah, I really do."

  
  


-The End-


End file.
